A New Strength
by phyreblade
Summary: Just a series of one-shots that describe Sith Lord Lusiel's time and days following "Forging a Destiny". Will be jumping all over the place, through various scenes and interactions, starting with her daughter's arrival on Korriban. Several mention of characters from my "Destiny" series set in the Old Republic era.
1. Chapter 1 -- Korriban

_**All characters are the property of Bioware and EA. Thanks to them for such remarkable stories! Keep them coming!**_

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Her head was hurting, the ache spreading in a numbing arch along the front of her skull, until it seemed almost a pulsing rhythm as keen as the sound her sword made when she was jumping along the sands of the practice arena back at home. Not that she could blame her current discomfort on her old teacher, either. His calls for her to improve her stance, to move faster, or to swing harder weren't the impetus for the pain reverberating in her head, not this time around.

No, old Tremel couldn't be blamed today. She blamed the little twit of a nuisance, rather, who'd perched herself against the same bench on the shuttle heading down towards the planet's surface that Jessa was resting on during the journey. The girl had spent the entire time taunting Jessa's paternal bloodline, in fact. As if "common" was ever a word to be applied to Jessa's father, she thought to herself, and never mind whatever the little witch called him.

"He's not even force-sensitive, is he? Just an ordinary nobody. I'd be ashamed to admit such a man helped make me, if I were you."

"Perhaps, then, I should be gratified you're not, hmm? I mean, I happen to appreciate my mother chose someone so vital to be my father. There's no need on my part to hide or even paint my face."

She heard one of the soldiers resting his helmeted head against the back of the seat in front of them muffle a bark of laughter. The girl's narrow face flushed bright red, nearly as bright as the huge splotch of a tattoo that marred her cheek and extended over her eye. Jessa very nearly laughed herself as she watched the girl change colors. But she only smiled tightly, instead. Vette had assured her, as she was preparing to leave, there was no need to stop playing their game, insisted, "_Look, just because you're going to be stuck on that bright, red ball of misery is no reason to forget how much fun we've always had! Hey, it's better to keep them guessing what amuses you. It makes you look all deadly when you're soooo serious. And that's funny, too, when they get all nervous and stumble over themselves, huh?_"

The bump of the shuttle as it reached the landing pad jarred all of them, and for a single sweet moment, she could easily ignore the girl's minor, annoying presence, as they all busied themselves rising up and shuffling towards shuttle's doors. It was when they paused the brat tried again. "I heard he was nothing but an ordinary soldier, right? Some minor nobody, who's only claim to aptitude is the ability to convince a Sith Lord to call him husband."

Jessa eyed the shuttle's doors, where she could just make out the swirling red sands and jagged twisted rocks. The warm, moist climate of Dromund Kaas seemed even further away all of a sudden. Another stab of pain in her forehead throbbed, and she sighed softly. The little cretin of a girl was still barking at her, anyway. "What's his name, even? Your father's, I mean."

Jessa glanced back at her, as she stopped there just at the door's opening. She nodded slightly at the shuttle's pilot, who was gesturing for her to move through the door, prepared to hand her off to the guards waiting at the bottom of the ramp for the new acolytes to disembark. "My father is called Quinn, of course. I'm surprised you'd have to ask. Or were you interested in knowing his given name? Why would you concern yourself with such a thing?"

The pilot startled, Jessa noted. He elbowed the soldier standing next to him, the one who'd laughed earlier, and lifted his chin in Jessa's direction. The man's chin tightened under the face plate of his helmet just before he turned and exited the shuttle, but Jessa saw him pause to mumble something to the guards at the bottom of the ramp.

Not that Jessa's needling tormenter noticed any of that. Foolish chit. Awareness of the nuances around you was the best way to preserve your heartbeat, she thought. But the fool merely sniffed disdainfully, her focus entirely on Jessa herself, rather than their surroundings. "My father is called Gratham. He's _Sith_."

"I know." Jessa rubbed one small hand along the round hilt of her vibrosword, clutched at it. "My mother killed your father's firstborn. He's spent the entirety of my eleven years trying to kill me for sake of revenge against her. And failed every single time, I might add. All of it, mind you, thanks to my so-called 'common' father's skill at seeing through his pitiful assassination attempts." She leaned closer to the fool girl, smiling. "I knew who you were before we even climbed onto this shuttle."

Jessa watched the girl's green eyes widen, as fear sparked there for the first time. She smiled, thinking to herself it wouldn't be the last time she scared the ninny. If little miss "my father's better than yours" didn't watch out, the last time Jessa scared her would be her very last time, in fact. For now, however, Jessa ignored her utterly in favor of experiencing Korriban for herself, rather than vicariously through her mother's stories, admonishments, and guidance.

Her mother's eyes had gleamed darkly when she spoke of Korriban. "_A place of power, lurking, resting sometimes, and sometimes flaring. Those unprepared, or those too weak to withstand it, are easily overwhelmed. You will not be, Jessa. It will lift you up, fill you. As it did me. Like coming home, maybe._" Jessa felt a twinge as she thought of her mother, thought there was no way she'd ever regard Korriban as home. Not when they were so far away. Sparring with her mother was one of her favorite pastimes. Dancing across the training arena with her, their swords swinging, clanging against each other, while Tremel yelled at them from the sidelines – she'd miss it utterly, those moments watching her mother move smoothly, like water flowing almost, and knowing she was quickly becoming proficient enough to leave her mother's forehead marked with beads of sweat.

Lusiel had insisted Jessa's challenge lay as much in being her child, as it was an advantage. She'd be required to live up to a higher standard, even more than the average acolyte. Survival, for her, would never be enough. She'd have to transcend her mother's example, in fact. That, and outmatch every single schlub who tried to prove himself by taking on the Wrath's daughter.

Which is where her father and his guidance came into play, of course. The soldier standing at the bottom of the ramp reached to touch her elbow softly, ostensibly helping her step off onto the wide open surface of the shuttle landing pad. He leaned closer, only briefly, whispering quickly, "You're _Admiral_ Quinn's daughter?" Jessa lowered her chin, a subtle inclination. The soldier pressed his lips hard together, nodding slightly as he stepped back into a formal and unobtrusive position again.

She was satisfied. The soldiers who acted as guards in and around the temples and training grounds of the Academy would prove to be assets if treated properly. Best, anyway, to coddle them, fight for them and support their efforts as much and as often as possible. They'd repay her for it. But it was good to start off with the sheer bribery that lay in pleasing her high-ranking Imperial father. Friends among the guards meant it would be harder for her fellow acolytes to sneak up on her.

She turned to face the rising crags of twisted rock that surrounded the training grounds and entrance way to the Sith Academy, ignoring the spluttered complaints of Gratham's annoyance of a daughter behind her. Her father's voice was swimming in her mind right then, rather. "_Korriban will offer you challenge in every moment, every interaction. You possess the skill, the strength that's necessary to overcome every one of them. You've learned well, Jessa_." She closed her eyes, bringing that memory to the front of her mind, pulling it free from the depths of that inner space where she'd stored it, used it now as a balm, a comfort. A technique her father had taught her when she was still in swaddling clothes, in fact.

So she remembered. The way he'd stood there, gazing out the viewscreen as they both took in the red ball of a planet that was Korriban from high above the world. The pale red light reflecting from the planet had glanced across his dark hair, highlighted the look of pride that he slid towards her through eyes so much like her own. There had been whispers about his looks, that he remained far younger-looking than his actual age should've permitted, rumors his Sith wife performed rituals that kept him fit and healthy. But precious few outside of family and their most trusted followers knew of the real bond he shared with his wife.

He'd looked at her, there, and his eyes shone brightly with the pride he felt for her. She clenched her fists tightly against her sides, now, as she looked out over the expanse of Korriban's red landscape, breathing steadily, rhythmically, as she prepared herself. Gratham's daughter raised a shrill shriek at one of the guards, something about their "filthy fingers" touching her tunic. She smiled, imagining the ease with which she'd destroy the girl.

Then she stepped forward, placing her small leather-soled boot onto the sand for the first time. She was ready.


	2. Chapter 2 -- Blood Secured

**So I'm still getting messages every once in a while, asking for some more and fluffy moments between my warrior and Quinn. After the latest request for a scene that described Lusiel's daughter being born, I sat down and wrote this up. Here's hoping it works ...**

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He hated it. He decided, watching her push and strain there against the table, bent over as she clutched her swollen belly in terrible agony, that this procedure was one he'd never allow her to suffer again. He'd witnessed her struggle with pain before, yes. But not like this, not because of something he'd done to her, caused to her.

His memory mocked him, then, the image of her expression, there in that bedroom of Vowran's safe house back on Correllia, though. The unmitigated hurt that had filled her eyes had been stunning to him even then, when his own anger was such a thrillingly powerful force to contend with. Angry enough he'd struck out at her, flayed against her emotions. When she was so vulnerable, too.

Quinn scowled at the memory, shaking his dark head as he leaned into his wife's back, rubbing softly against the muscles of her lower backside, just over her soft kidneys. He hummed softly against her ear, sighing when she lay her head back against his shoulder and panted slowly. He could see the sweat glistening against her forehead, and he whispered the softest kiss there, "Not much longer, Lusiel. I promise."

She breathed in roughly, an amused huff of sound. "Quinn. I swear, this is far harder for you than it is me. We're fine. This ..." She felt her stomach knotting into another contraction, clutched against her belly again as she panted through the pain. "This is hardly the worst pain I've endured. Nor will it be the last, either."

He pressed his lips tightly together, frowning. "It will be the last time for this particular pain, my lord." He felt it, then. That precious part of his mind that belonged solely to her, where she'd long since settled and normally stayed so quiet and still. It roused, now, moving through him. So that he felt as she did, her emotions shimmering there inside, deeply in him. And he sighed, as her anger became so glaringly apparent to him. "Please, my lord. Don't become unduly upset. This is hardly the time."

"No, not the time at all. Not the time for you to deny me something that valuable. Did you not promise me heirs, Quinn? Heirs! Not one but multiple! Even my own crazed mother was allowed the chance to have my brother, too!" She was becoming agitated, stiffening there in front of him. He murmured, trying to soothe her. But Sith abided in their powerful emotions. And Lusiel was strong, even for a Sith. There was no time for calm rejoinders, not now.

"Lusiel, damn it! Stop!" He wrapped his arms around her, until he held her arms in front of her, her hands held tightly in his own wrapped fists just under her round tummy. He could feel their daughter, her pert little shoulder pressing up from under the soft skin under their own clenched hands, straining, moving towards her birth, and he gasped softly. He remembered, suddenly, the first moment he'd "seen" the small female child he'd made, as he'd fumbled over Lusiel's unconscious form, trying desperately to heal her. Seeing the tiny little bird of a heart thrumming there had awed him, stunned him. How close he'd come to losing them both, he'd realized in sudden, flaring distress.

That was the memory that slammed into them both, now, as Quinn lost the ability to keep it from the bond they shared together.

Of Lusiel's beautiful face, blanched of all color. Her eyes huge against her sweat-brushed brow, starkly dark with shock and pain. Her body, falling, collapsing under the strain as consciousness disappeared entirely. He'd caught her, as she'd ordered just before her eyes rolled back and went still. He'd held her close, utterly lost for the first time in his life, certain she'd just died right in front of him, that Draahg's lightsaber had stolen her away from him, taken her. Before, even, he could tell her how sorry he was, how damn sorry, for walking away from her when she'd needed him, begged him. He wouldn't be able to tell her the truth of it, that he needed her far, far more than she'd ever needed him. For that singular moment, he'd thought only of how quickly he could follow her, looked around as if to beg someone, anyone - Pierce, maybe. Pierce would do it in a heartbeat if he asked, if he told him to! – to beg them just to finish him off.

Lusiel whimpered against the memory he inadvertently shared with her, feeling another contraction suddenly. It rolled through her small frame, until she shook there in his arms. She lowered her chin, pressing her face into her own shoulder as she breathed in. Then out again. And again. "Want more than one, Malavai. Even if it scares you to death, this travail I'm suffering. I won't be sorry for it, ever, either. Don't ask that of me."

Ah, Lusiel, he thought. His very _Sith_ wife. He could wear a uniform, command hundreds of men, of soldiers. Oh, and she'd be glad for all of it, for every proof and demonstration of his capability! Hell, she'd feel no compunction whatsoever in ensuring accolades were heaped on him, medals adorned his chest, all of it. Because, she'd told him, in that lovely voice of hers she used when making a staunch and succinct demand of those she considered subordinate - which at that moment had been him, mind you - "You're mine! If they do not, if they disdain you or otherwise decry you, it's me they're misusing, me they're judging. I'll not have anyone show you less respect than I do, else my own standing, my own power is diminished, disrespected. And it can't be allowed!" He'd nodded, then, accepting her insistent demand he be accorded every bit of rank and prestige she could win for him. And that's exactly what he did now, that was the acceptance he offered her, the support he gave her.

She was Sith. He was Imperial. He loved her too much to make her less than she was, the leader she'd been born to become, shaped so methodically into making. This is the way it was done, always. This was their world, their life. He pressed another kiss against her brow, shushing her softly, "Of course, Lusiel. However many you want. I swear it." She continued breathing, the way he'd taught her, instructed her so carefully weeks prior. She eased her fingers loose from the hold he'd forced upon them, lifted up the palm of his hand so she could rub against the pad of his thumb. He hummed softly again when she found the callus made by the hard grip he used when he fired a blaster.

"You hid that memory from me, Malavai. It shows tremendous strength." Her tone was heavy with regard. He smiled at how subtly she recognized the difficulty for him that experience had been, how deeply felt her appreciation for him was.

"Not one of my favorite memories. I relegated it to a particular section of my mind where I could safely ignore it."

"Like putting it in a box?"

"Indeed."

"A neat trick. I'll have to remember it." She clenched her teeth through another contraction, felt certain their daughter would be making an appearance very soon. She glanced over towards the glass wall facing the room where she labored, felt heady satisfaction at the figures she was able to make out through the enclosure where she was working hard with her husband. It was vital, she knew, that her child's blood never be denied. The witnesses of her babe's birth had been carefully chosen, their responsibilities methodically described and outlined. Even Tremmel was standing there, his dark skin looking mottled with splotchy color as he tried to hide his excitement.

Pierce watched, too, his bulky frame nearly blocking Jaesa from her view. They were rarely far apart, however. She'd long since given Pierce to her apprentice, so that he served the young woman faithfully enough. Honestly, he was one of the few who could manage to keep Jaesa in some semblance of control, which was why she'd directed the arrangement. Vette was there, too, standing with her slim, blue hands pressed flat against the glass, her face so close to the surface that her breath frosted across it in front of her. It looked, in fact, like she was actually trying to climb through into the delivery-room, as if she was some character in a far-off tale that emerged through a glass barrier into a strange, new world. Some tuft of white fur clung to the shoulder of her leathers, too, so that she knew Broonmark was close, even if she couldn't make out his form, there.

Lusiel groaned. "Did he make it? Bring ... her?" Lusiel gritted her teeth against the pain of yet another contraction, this one blending in so smoothly with the last there'd been precious little time to rest beforehand. Quinn ran his hands soothingly over the tightening surface of her belly, murmuring softly to their child, calming them both. He slowly eased himself back, raising Lusiel up until she lay prone along the surface of the cushioned table. She watched him with a suddenly dazed expression, so that he knew the birth was close, so close. He directed the medical droids, maneuvering Lusiel into position, draping a cloth over her knees before sliding smoothly into place between her legs.

"They're here, Lusiel. Upper level, private quarters. They're family, after all." She felt him, felt his shoulders bumping against her soft ankles as he leaned closer. "I can see her! She's crowning! Now, push ... Lusiel! Gods!"

Lusiel bit her lower lip, wheezing through another contraction and ignoring Quinn's demand that she continue her breathing exercise. She growled, instead, "Shut up! Telling me what to do is hardly helping, damn you!" She could feel his hands, his fingers running along her inner thighs, through the swollen tissues of her groin where their child was emerging. The perfection of it, that he would be the one catching their daughter as she took her first breath - Lusiel blinked, refusing the tears that shimmered in her eyes. But she couldn't stop the words from spilling along their bond, shivering through to him, "_I love you so_." She heard him groan out-loud, her name, his tone thick with emotion. And it resonated between them, running along the surface of the bond she'd crafted with such calculated skill and care.

He was beyond words, and she loved it. Loved that he could feel so strongly he wasn't capable of even the most simple phrases. Her Quinn was never without words. Except that he felt so much right then, for her, for them. She flexed her shoulders, feeling her baby's head as she began to slip past the opening into the open air of the room. And then she looked up and saw them standing there together, watching carefully through the glass window of the private quarters that overlooked the medical enclosure.

Khyriel. Her brother was frowning as he stared down at her, the concern etching across his face. She knew he was achingly angry that he was outside the room, that he wanted to be there guiding the entire process, rather. He'd argued with Quinn, insisted he be the one to assist in the birth. But it was not the first time her husband had stood firm against a determined opponent, nor would it be the last. He'd stood there and nearly barked, "There are comforts I can provide my lord to soothe the process that you yourself can not. It must be me, if only so that she has someone she can threaten and blame for putting her in that position." He'd even nodded emphatically as he spoke so firmly. Khy had stopped, blinked, just before leaning his head back to laugh outrageously, "Well, then. Let's hope she doesn't throw you around the room too much, then. But I'll watch." Quinn had inclined his head, accepting the warning for what it was, that the agent would take charge if he felt the need. So protective, she'd thought. The both of them, in their own way.

As if protection was anything a Sith might need, mind you. She'd damn well destroy anyone who threatened her child's birth, and never mind the pain of her labor! Which brought her attention straight to her ... to her sister. _Sister_. The word still stunned her in the using, so that she lay there, panting, examining the face of the woman she was still trying to appreciate, to know. Kastiel watched her, too, a small, soft smile turning her lips. Kas' Mandalorian armor was in thick place, stretching across the curves of her frame as she leaned a shoulder against the window, watching, watching.

It was Kas who had struck down three seperate hunters in just the past month, all of them looking for Lusiel herself. The last one - she'd cut his throat, so that his blood sprayed across the face of the pitiful slicer he'd been working with, bent over the console where they'd been working to gather small bits of data and maps. She'd snarled at the slight-framed cyborg, watching him tremble, his hands held up defensively, shaking madly, "Might want to put that word out, that anyone who seeks to harm Lord Lusiel won't survive the effort. They'll be sliced faster than you can slice a system, I swear it." There hadn't been any hints of new hunters, since.

Khyriel had recorded the entire event, of course. Lusiel had examined it carefully, trying hard to understand this new sister of hers. She'd looked at Khyriel, shaking her head, bemused, "Why is it she reminds me so much of you?" There'd been a look on his face, then, that Lusiel hadn't really been able to understand, to name. It was almost ... approval, perhaps. Almost like he was telling her, "_So you see it, too_." Her siblings confused her, she finally admitted to herself. And maybe that was the way it should be, that they'd be so different from her. But uniquely matched together, all the same. No matter how distinct they were from each other.

Quinn suddenly stiffened, and she could feel his fingers reaching out to smooth against the flesh stretched around her child's emerging head. She strained, pushing, and he crooned at her, "Come on, Lusiel. Just one more big push. Just one more ... Yes!" Lusiel actually yelped, loosing a small, tired scream, as her baby slid wetly from her body. Quinn was moving quickly, clearing the baby's tiny mouth and airway, wiping against her tiny body with a soft cloth. Lusiel lay there, breathing roughly as she waited, listening. Until she heard her baby's first whimpers, the little mewling sounds she made as she took her first breaths. Quinn was smiling, his pleasure thrilling between them, as he finally held the little baby girl up for Lusiel to see, "Perfect ... she's absolutely perfect."

Lusiel looked down at the small squirming body her husband was holding high up, watched the little female blinking tiredly back at her. And she laughed, seeing her baby's deep blue eyes for the first time. "Of course she is. No child of yours, Quinn, would ever be anything less than sheer perfection. It simply isn't in the rule book." He shook his head at her, but she was able to detect the brief smile tugging against his lips, all the same. She listened to him directing the droids through the process of cleaning her. But it was Quinn himself who settled next to her, their daughter nestled in a soft blanket between them.

She sighed, looking up one last time at her siblings, ignoring the raucous calls coming from the side room where her people were cheering. Khy and Kas stood there together, both of them grinning like goons, like they themselves had done something incredible today. Idiots, she thought. Then she blinked wearily, yawning widely as she looked back at her child again. Quinn was watching the baby, his eyes darkly blue with fascination, and she leaned over to smooth her nose gently against his jaw.

"Jessa. Her name."

Quinn looked up her, startled. Their faces were so close by then that his nose actually thumped softly against hers. He looked into her eyes, the deep melting chocolate of her gaze, thinking how damn much he loved her. "You'd name her for my mother?"

Lusiel grinned. "I certainly won't name her for mine."

Quinn's throat tightened at this newest sign of her regard for him, this open declaration of the respect she had for him. Her way of telling their world how much she honored him, how much he meant to her. It was better than any medal or award the Imperial military had bestowed on him, he decided, her open and bold declaration that her legacy was his own, too. So he told her, his tone heavy, achingly deep, "I adore you, my L... Lusiel."

"My Lusiel," she repeated, sighing at him. "I actually like the sound of that, my Malavai."

"Then I'll say it more often."

"Good."


	3. Chapter 3 -- Guarding Each Other

Jessa rolled over against the soft cushion of her small bed, yawning wildly as she thought over what had managed to wake her. The quiet of her rooms was heady enough, at least, for her tiredness to have lasted far longer. She blinked wearily as she looked around, examining the shadows of her personal space. Everything was quiet, dark. Nothing moved, nothing was out of place. But she knew, all the same. She knew someone was coming, coming closer.

There was the briefest shift, there against the curve of the wall nearby the inner doorway that lead into the closets where her clothing and effects were stored. The bathing refresher, with its big tub that she enjoyed splashing inside of was located right next to the closets. She'd normally pad through the doors after her baths, her small pale-skinned body dripping wetly against the wood-paneled floors. Sometimes Jaesa would chase after her, yelling about her dressing, insistent the clothes be fresh, clean and railing at her when Jessa pulled on something outrageous and miscolored, instead. Just to needle at the apprentice's sense of proper style. The space was comforting in its sheer familiarity.

She hummed softly, briefly, calling quietly towards the creature standing silently present against the wall. Broonmark warbled only vaguely, just enough to assure her of his attention, that he was careful in his guardianship at the moment and aware of her unease. The Talz had long since learned to respect the senses of his Sith clan. Even Jessa, youngling though she was, had a wickedly keen perception, sharper perhaps than that of her own mother. And that Sith was one even other _Sith_ feared greatly, Broonmark thought, satisfied.

Jessa snuffled a small sound, crawling out from her blankets to stand alongside her bed. She carefully settled the small Muzzlian Quill her aunt's Mandalorian husband had gifted her with the year before, there against the plush pillow. He'd smiled when her mother frowned at the thing, asking what it was. Torian had gestured with one armored hand, "_It's a toy. You train her well. Let her play, too_." They'd argued for some time over what constituted toys and playing, with Lusiel insisting she provided Jessa with numerous toys. Even if the things were meant to be training utensils, just as much. The soft trinket glimmered, now, in the pale night illumination, as Jessa reached up and under the cushion for the tool Vette always left there. Curtains hung straight and silent along the archway that divided her sleeping area from the nursery nearby, and that's where she stepped, easing closer to the nearest stretch of fabric. She inhaled slowly to calm herself so she could reach out towards whatever was offending her sensibilities. Her Da had been the one who instructed her relaxation exercises, not her mother, and those were the techniques she relied upon as she stepped up to the curtain to peek into the next room.

Her mother had only smiled when she asked why he was the one to teach her, rather than a Sith. "_Your father's mind is an impressive one, Jessa. He thinks fast and deep, discerning nuances to any given situation that most of us would quite easily and simply bypass. His ability to strategize, to plot a course in mere moments, is greatly impressive. And he does it all with distinct coolness, rigid order, and incredible discipline. He's trained his mind to work precisely, in coordinated detail. And that's only part of the strength I want him to share with you_."

She breathed slowly, now, as she regarded the space through the archway, slowly sliding her gaze along the crisp cream-colored walls that gleamed so white in the shadows of the nighttime light. The table where she took her lessons was in the center of the room, with papers and books all stacked in neat rows alongside the right length of the table's edge. She'd been studying small-team battle tactics with Captain Pierce earlier in the day and he'd grumbled sourly when she went about tidying the materials. He said, "_No need to be that much like your sire, my lord. Think outside the box, outside the standard rulebook. Sometimes. Please_." She'd only giggled at him, giving him the bright-eyed twinkle of a stare that always reminded him of her mother. Even if she did look at him out of eyes eerily similar to Quinn's.

Her painting easel was still set up in one corner of the room, with the bright colors she was working into the canvas only vaguely discernible as splotches of grays and blacks against the spread of white shadow. Her Da didn't understand her delight in such pursuits, called it "a silly pastime". But her mother just smiled and passed her varied paint sets at every opportunity. When he'd argued over the indulgence, Lusiel had jerked her chin up, glaring, "_She's no droid, Quinn. She _feels_ the colors. There's power in that. Leave her be_." He'd nodded stiffly, disapproving as he looked back at her, tight-lipped. Her mother told her once, "_Your father's the only one who truly challenges me. I like it. Unfortunately, he knows that_." Jessa hadn't understood the appeal, until she made it a point to watch those around her, the way so many of them toadied to her, pretended they liked and cared about her, even as she sensed the truth. That the only thing they truly liked, was whatever favor or respect they might earn from one of her parents, not anything really of her.

Not that everyone went about kissing her tiny feet, either. She subtly pushed back one of the tendrils of hair that had fallen loosely from the braids Vette had tucked against her head before settling her against the sheets of her bed earlier that night. The twi'lek was only loosely regarded as a slave in the household. That was the title she used when asked, anyway. But those closest to her mother never, ever referred to her with that term. Vette told her once, "_Better that, than to end up like my sister did. Dried up, used up, tired and sad. No, Jessa. I'm happy with my place. And I _like_ your mother_." Vette, at least, never once flattered or gushed over Jessa. She even scolded Jessa on occasion, insisting, "_You don't earn loyalty by being a self-serving little witch, Jessa. Watch your mother. You'll see_."

There was a soft rustle, as something inside the room moved, hidden behind a stealth shield strengthened by real Force ability. Not that it mattered. It was Broonmark who'd exposed Jessa's ability to see through attempts at concealment, time and time again. He'd insisted, "_A real Sith, like her mother. She'll be a great warrior_." Jessa canted her small head, considering, breathing softly as she sent her force senses winging through the space. Looking, listening. Until … there. Not a test, then. Not someone sent by her Da or by Pierce, maybe. Because the soft sighs she sensed were vivid with bitter, ugly intent. She breathed softly, inhaling slowly as she listened to the thoughts, knew this was a killer approaching, a killer slowly edging through the rooms, looking for her. Dark, angry thoughts. Bitter feelings, resentment and greed, aspirations towards self-serving advancement. Someone looking for a place, a title of authority, and determined to use her own head as proof for the right to earn it. Trying to impress some Sith lord who hated her mother, apparently.

Jessa felt her heartbeat increasing, the thud of her blood moving through her veins as she considered the threat. She could almost hear her Da's voice, like he was right there with her, teaching her tactical motions over the nearby table all over again. "_There are those who will strike at you. Not for anything you've done. But for the blood that runs through your veins. They will try to take you from us, Jessa. You must not let them succeed_."

Jessa frowned, tensing as she slowly pulled her small body back against the wall behind the curtain, inhaling softly as she waited. Broonmark shuffled, easing to his tall, very impressive height there behind his own stealth shield. Both of them watched, waiting, patient as the assassin eased through the archway into Jessa's sleeping space. Jessa froze, quiet and silent against the wall. She watched. The killer stopped, startled, staring at the empty bed, its covers folded back neatly against the cushions while her favorite toy lay against the pillow. Jessa could make out the quiver in the assassin's force-strong stealth barrier, the ripple as shocked dismay filled the killer's senses. The killer's thoughts were a blazing cacophony of angry rage, filling Jessa's perception until her head began to slowly pound with pained distress.

That was the moment the doors banged wide and hard against the walls, loudly dragging attention away from Jessa's sleeping space, startling the killer into breaking the stealth concealing her, too. Jessa smiled softly as she became aware of her Da's signature presence, his incredibly focused hate for the assassin stalking her. The assassin spun to face him standing there, his eyes burning brightly as he stood framed in the entrance to Jessa's rooms. He'd been miles away, working to refine Lusiel's holdings in the nearby city. But he stood there, all the same, still covered in the sweat and grime of the journey he'd made to reach his daughter. His gaze snapped as he regarded the intruder. "I will break you in half for this," he vowed coolly. His target laughed at first, the sound snide and proud, and feminine.

"Ironic, is it not? Lord Grathan's wife tried protecting her son, too. You will fail as badly as she did."

"In fact, I've already beaten you. You simply haven't realized it yet."

That's when Broonmark moved, flying from the position Quinn had insisted he maintain until he arrived. The Talz hit solidly against the woman's back, warbling a triumphant cry when she stumbled forward, falling hard onto her knees there in the archway. She snarled, trying to twist around to face her furred opponent. But Broonmark moved faster, reaching a single long arm towards the back of her head, grabbing at the nape of her neck so that he could grip the thick tumble of her blonde hair. He leaned back from the blade the woman tried to thrust towards his softly furred, white belly.

But it was Jessa who leaped forward to jab at the woman with the honed dagger Vette had carefully tucked up under her pillow when preparing her for sleep. As usual, to boot. Her pretty blue eyes were as sharp as the weapon she slid smoothly into the soft flesh against the killer's side, piercing the woman's lung in one simple move. Just as Jessa had practiced under Pierce's critical tutelage. The assassin gasped loudly, crying out in pain and shock as she endured the mortal wound, dropping her blade as she reached desperately towards her side. Quinn yelled out, "Don't let her bleed out, Broonmark!"

Then Jessa jumped, the way her mother had taught her, laughing as they force-jumped through paces in the training rooms below. Now, Jessa used her own practiced strengths, jumping up to springboard off the assassin's head through the archway towards her father. Quinn reached out, smoothly plucking his child from the air before tucking her up against his chest. He loosed only the smallest oof as he caught her, just her name, "Jessa." Then he spun her around, placing her firmly against the solid length of his back and putting his own lean frame between her and the killer she'd managed to destroy in one simple motion.

The assassin was heaving, trying desperately to drag air into her chest. Broonmark snarled down at her, reaching out to slap against her wound so that she could breath again. For a short while, of course. He looked over towards the Sith's mate, looked for direction. Quinn was glaring at the woman, his eyes glittering coldly, watching as she wobbled under Broonmark's steely grip against the bright yellow hair at the top of her head. The woman could only barely breathe, "How … she knew I was there … how did she know? She's only ... child. Five years old ... how?" She lifted her blonde head, glaring up towards the Imperial. "The Wrath ... she killed my brother, killed Ralesk! I'll make her pay!" But the room was filling with Quinn's soldiers so rapidly, the sound of angry bootfalls a great blare of noise in the confined space. She twitched against Broonmark's hold, whimpering.

Jessa pressed her face into the small of her father's back, sighing tiredly as she endured the pulse of the woman's growing terror. She reached out to grab at Quinn's hand, felt his grip slide against her fingers as he held onto her. Pierce's directive calls rang out above the ever-increasing clamor, "Secure the bitch! Damn you, all of you! I'll have the hide off the idiot that let her get this damn close! I swear it!" He stepped closer suddenly, laying a single large hand against the small curve of Jessa's shoulder as he went to slide around Quinn.

Jessa heard him whisper to her father as he went, "Damn it to the Hells, you were right again. Still hate you."

Quinn shrugged, holding his daughter's small hand warmly, "And I still don't care."

The woman gurgled suddenly. "What will happen to me? You ... will you leave me to die from this piddling wound? Is that it?"

"And what, I wonder, would be the fun in that?"

The woman huffed in a broken breath, snapping her attention to the doorway just as Lusiel stepped inside the rooms, the slender figure of her blue twi'lek slave padding along behind her. She tried shaking her head and grimaced in pain when Broonmark tightened his grip in her hair. Her thoughts were scattered, as she wondered when her careful, methodical plan had gone so terribly wrong. Her timing had been precise, though. The Wrath was far from the planet, busy with dealings on some distant world. And her husband wouldn't be at the compound, he'd be conducting business at one of the retailers who's shop was miles distant. The one who'd accepted the exhorbitant number of credits for the chance at luring the man away, to boot. The child would have been tenderly vulnerable. An easy target. Sneak past the guards left behind, take the girl's head ... it should have proven an easy bit of effort. Instead, it was the damn five year-old who'd thrust a dagger into her lung. And everyone who should've been far away ... wasn't.

Then she dropped her gaze down Lusiel's frame, to the swell of belly where the palm of her hand was resting. She snarled, "Another heir, another brat. That's why they said you weren't here ..."

Lusiel sneered, her pretty lips pulling into a sharp mew of disgust against her pale chin. "They say exactly what they're directed to say, of course."

Jessa whispered tiredly against the swelling quiet in the room. All of the soldiers stood carefully, quietly waiting for direction and glaring at the assassin who'd tried striking against their Lord's heir. Jessa's soft voice was vividly loud against the silence. "She was going to take my head off, I saw it in her mind. She called it a gift for some Sith Lord. Who's Grathan? Why does he want to have my head as a present?"

Quinn drew in a deep breath, as Lusiel became very, very still. Her eyes were rich brown pools of rage as she stared over towards the assassin. The woman lifted her chin, resentful, cruel, "Because, you damn brat. Your mother killed Grathan's son, back when her master still directed her. She owes Lord Grathan the debt and he means to collect." She slanted a glance at the child peeking around her father's hip towards her. "How does it make you feel, knowing your mother cut down that boy?"

Jessa frowned at her, "My mother does nothing without reason."

Lusiel raised a single palm of her hand, "Enough." Lusiel leaned her head to the side, to better observe the blood sliding in a steady stream through the palm of Broonmark's clawed hand against the woman's ribs. The woman was breathing shallowly, trying to keep from showing the sharp pains that splintered through her torso. But Lusiel noticed, regardless. A soft smile ghosted across her lips as she straightened to her full straight height. Even then her dark head, with its ebony wash of thick hair, reached to just as high as her husband's shoulder. Their daughter peeked out from the small, thin space between them as they stood there, glaring towards her. "Well, you managed to find my daughter. She's impressive, is she not? Grathan's son was never able to even touch me, while my tiny daughter's killed you. How amusing."

The assassin glared, her blues eyes flashing with rage. "You killed my brother, killed Ralesk! You murdered him!"

Lusiel frowned, confused. Vette chanted, "Ralesk! Remember him? He's the one who bragged he was Grathan's chief assassin, that he destroyed Grathan's enemies for him. There in the spaceport when we first took charge of the Black Wing! Remember, my lord?" The woman grunted, enraged as she realized Lusiel didn't even recall her brother's death, didn't even think of it until her blasted slave reminded her. She pulled and yanked against the Talz, trying to reach angry fingers towards the Wrath. She yelled, "I'll kill your brat, kill them ... both!" Broonmark chirruped, snapping her head back so sharply it seemed her neck would break. But she only cried out a pained yelp as she wiggled there on the floor.

Lusiel shook her head, disgusted. "Grathan wants a head you said. We should give him one. Broonmark? Pieces. Slowly, mind you. I want it to hurt. And Pierce? See that it's sent to the appropriate party, after."

Broonmark chirped happily. Pierce stood stiffly proud, not hesitating as he barked roughly, "Yes, my lord. I'll see to it." He slowly released his hard fists against the clenching hold he'd held them in as he listened to the killer promise a mean death to the child he honored. Grunts and grumbles sounded from the crowd of soldiers in the room, men and women he'd chosen carefully, precisely. Only those most loyal to the Sith they served stood there in that space. All of them were filled with anger at the thought of the girl child they watched playing - force-leaping through the hallways, hiding in stealth the way her uncle taught her just to sneak her little Squill toy onto the shoulders of the various guards watching over her, and waving her tiny practice sword in pantomimed seriousness at pretend targets - they all fumed at the merest thought of her being harmed, let alone slaughtered and mutilated.

"I'm already dying, damn you! Just ... leave it!" She was trembling as she knelt there, facing them with her blue eyes wide and panicked. Jessa could feel her terror shivering there in the heavy air of the room. Several soldiers stepped clear of her as she lost control of her bladder in a sudden sodden mess there on the floor. Lusiel sniffed in disgust, clutching Jessa closer to her side as Quinn grunted questioningly towards her. She nodded slowly, watching as he loosed Jessa's hand to step closer to the woman, leaning over just slightly to snarl down at her.

"In half, as I told you. You shouldn't have thought, for even a moment, to lift a single hand to _my_ child, _my_ wife's child!" He spun on his heel, turning his back in the firmest disregard as he approached his family again. He lifted his hand, waited as Jessa slid her small fingers back into his grasp. He ignored the woman utterly, ignored her begging calls as the Talz dragged her from the rooms. Quinn only reached down to lift his daughter up to hold her against him, before looking aside into his wife's dark eyes. Lusiel sighed, suddenly weary as the assassin took to screaming shrilly as they dragged her down the hall.

Quinn grunted, reaching out to pull Lusiel closer, until she was huddled up against his lean, muscled frame. She rested her forehead against Quinn's collarbone, rasping, "You did it. You saved her ... Gods, I love you, Quinn." He pressed his lips against the top of Lusiel's head, tightening his hold on their daughter as she fell asleep against his chest, there between them. He didn't say anything, didn't speak. He only worked to methodically close all the doors in his mind that were blasted wide open during his terrified rush to reach their little girl. He walked his tiny family through the doors, heading towards the quarters he shared with Lusiel. It would be days of careful work before he'd feel the security was proper for Jessa to sleep apart from them again. For now, he walked along, planning the message he'd give to Grathan in the package they'd send him. A very satisfying exercise, actually, as Jessa burbled softly in her sleep.


	4. Chapter 4 -- The Force Bond

**Not so much fluff, here, sorry.**

* * *

Quinn ducked his head as he leaped down from the shuttle when it touched against the hangar floor, listening to the droning call of the computerized voice overhead warning of his team's return. Sweat etched a path through the grease-smeared grime on his face as he unbuckled the head gear he'd yanked on for the mission, but he couldn't help the twist of his lips when Pierce stepped up alongside him to groan loudly, "Getting old, I think. That's what has me aching for a long, hot soak in a tub, even more than downing a pint of something cold, I just know it. Damn, I'm tired."

Quinn rolled his own shoulders, thinking sourly that Pierce was probably correct. Except it wasn't a pint of anything he wanted right then. A good hour soaking inside his wife, more like. He felt his groin twitch at the mere thought of her slim legs wrapped around his hips, hugging him close to her warmest core. He coolly ignored the sardonic grin that Pierce shot him as he canted his hips to the side, trying to ease the gnawing ache in his groin that had persisted for the last several weeks, now. Gods. He really was getting old, if the thought of another month-long mission away from his wife sent such a bitter pill rolling through his stomach.

The strength of his feelings, of course, roused the bond he shared with Lusiel. He felt her, the winding stretch of her there in his mind, just a brief flare of warmth and desire. Enough that he knew she shared the sharp edge of wanting that he felt right then.

He snatched up a cloth, to scrub against his face as he watched over the rest of the soldiers tumbling out of the shuttle, listened to them grumble and mutter as they went about securing the weapons they'd retrieved from some absurdly stupid pirates trying to buy their way into the good graces of the Cartel by stealing the things from the Empire. He tightened his uniform, until it fit firmly into careful place along his lean frame once again, before stepping forward to properly direct them in their work, concentrating on the task rather than his fervent desire to return home. Or, at the very least, settling with a cup of hot caf over his holoterminal as he retrieved his messages, knew he'd have several from Malissel at least.

His youngest was avidly fascinated with the intricacies of the holonet, the lightning fast communications that occurred using varied hyperwave transceivers throughout the galaxy. Malissel's tutors were overwhelmed, in fact. His daughter had a sharp, engaging mind, and she was strong-willed enough she refused to be stifled, regardless of what her teachers deemed "normal perameters for her young mind". She usually became quite frustrated, kicking against them with her small feet in fits of temper before insisting that someone else answer her questions. Quinn himself was her regular "someone else". It wasn't even unusual for her to rush into his study and stomp her feet, insisting he stop whatever meeting he was involved in, just to attend her curiosity. That last one had proved particularly amusing, if he recalled correctly.

"But, sir! She knocked me off my feet when I wouldn't compare the velocity of a blaster bolt up against a lightsaber thrown by a force-user, to determine which would move faster! I wasn't expecting that strong a blow from such a young child. She's only four years-old!"

Liss had wrinkled her tiny nose in disgust at the man, looking so much like her mother - with her deep brown eyes flashing angrily - that he'd had to choke back a bark of laughter. "If you didn't know how to find out, you only had to say so!"

"But I know how to do it!" He'd looked bewildered, actually. Quinn thought the fellow couldn't understand how it was he 'd become involved in a real argument over logic with a child just barely far from being called a toddler. Actually, he wasn't certain what he found more amusing. That the man had descended into the argument in the first place. Or that he ultimately lost it to her. Because Liss had stood there in front of his desk, her small arms crossed over her chest as she rolled her eyes, sighing, "Mabey it was how young I am. It made you forget."

Quinn had saved the man, finally, simply waving him from the study before assisting Liss in setting the standards of her experiment into proper context. It had provided a rather interesting afternoon, in fact. What with Pierce's determination to make the gambit a real contest between his blaster and Lusiel's lightsaber. He'd grudgingly lost the match, of course. His bitter self-recrimination after he lost had made for several very enjoyable hours for Quinn himself. It was made so much better when both of Quinn's daughters trilled loudly, "Knew it," as they celebrated Lusiel's victory. The look on Pierce's face had proved priceless.

Now, Quinn only briefly acknowledged Pierce's weary complaint, nodding, "A bath would be … pleasant, yes." He glanced back at the rest of the team. Arlos and Cole were busily directing several of the ship's personnel handling the packs that contained the stolen weapons they'd retrieved from the Cartel's pirates, stacking the things carefully inside of cargo containers for transport back to Dromund Kaas. He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it out from the dry stiffness his helmet had left behind, "See that Captain Lorant records the name of the man we lost, Pierce."

Pierce grunted, glancing down at the dried blood staining Quinn's thigh. Not that the blood detracted from his overly neat and tidy appearance, either. Even the small streaks of dirt and sweat served to mark him a steady, capable Imperial officer, a real professional who ran up there at the front with the entire team, rather than that he was haphazard or unkempt. Fuck him if he didn't manage to keep his uniform straight and sleek even as he was doing what needed doing - bloody amazing. Pierce grumbled sourly, "He was too eager for glory, for making some sort of name for himself. Damn fool, running in there like that. Trying to save 'im nearly got you killed. And, shit. One of these days I'm going to figure out how to look as damn good as you do after sweating like a pig through one of these missions."

Quinn shrugged. "Haven't managed it in all these years, Pierce. You'd think you would've given up by now. Count it an exercise in futility, perhaps."

"I still hate you."

"That's good."

"Oh, my. You're special forces, are you not, Imperial? On a mission of some sort? And injured? How thrilling."

Quinn inwardly winced as he turned until he faced the fresh-faced Sith who's blue eyes gleamed eagerly as she scanned his frame for signs of blood and pain, looked past him towards the soldiers tiredly gathered around the crates they were sealing. She was young, this Sith, with her pale blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun against the nape of her neck. But her eyes were lit with diabolical fascination as she regarded them. Quinn imagined her panting with excitement over the signs of battle stretching across each man's face and body as they wearily catalogued their losses and gains, there in the hangar. Still, he mentally tucked aside his frustration with the woman's mean interest, along with his longing for a warm bath and night's rest, neatly shutting the doorway in his mind behind such simple issues, as he focused on Darth Acina's apprentice. Ahnn was her name, he remembered.

"A grazing wound only, my lord. I'm sorry if we're disturbing your own work, here." He glanced towards the section of the hangar where Ahnn was supposed to be overseeing the transport of several crates she'd insisted contained highly dangerous materials. Which was precisely why he'd argued against docking there in the same hangar. When a Sith apprentice to the Sphere of Technology claimed a thing was dangerous, you were well-advised to keep your distance from the thing, he believed. But space on the Imperial cruiser was finite, the demands of the war taking precedence over their varied missions. Weapons powered by isotope-5 were precious things, of course, but hardly so valuable that anything smaller than a cruiser could be diverted to retrieve his team.

Probably why the chances of him actually getting a _bath_ anytime soon were slim to none, too. His cabin was equipped with a sonic shower, rather, with room enough for only one figure to stand upright in. A slim figure, to boot. The most relaxation he could hope for was to eventually fall down asleep into the tiny bed he'd been allotted. It's why he'd been looking forward to time spent with pictures and voices from home, moments soft enough he'd be able to forget the look in the eyes of the soldier he'd been unable to keep alive. And the sleep he'd enjoy afterwards might be enough to get him through the next few days, to boot.

Only a few days more, before he could rejoin his wife. He missed her. He missed the way she slept with her head tucked right up close to him, under his chin, missed the way she laughed over his careful organization routines in the closet they shared, missed the way she licked his ear right before some high-ranking nabob visited her offices, just so he'd shiver in anticipation of the fool's leaving. He especially missed the way she looked sprawled across her desk, there. Thinking of Lusiel made him even more keen to avoid the woman in front of him. He glanced sideways towards Pierce, subtly inclining his chin. The big soldier grunted softly as he looked to make sure the crates were more quickly prepared for transport, watched as the team rushed to finish the task.

Ahnn clicked her tongue against her teeth as she leaned sideways to better see the temporary bandage Quinn had secured against his leg. "How unfortunate, that they'd mar such a delicious-looking body. Is there any chance to avoid scarring? I'm sure a small bit of force-strong healing would help you avoid such a possibility."

Quinn frowned, glancing sideways towards Pierce. The soldier's low grumble and studious consideration of the floor belied his keen awareness of the byplay. He had a sudden memory of Pierce in the mess on the Black Wing, sitting there as if uncaring while he chanted statistics regarding Sith relationships, "_They're over two hundred percent more likely to commit adultery than normal people_." Ahnn didn't appear to be any sort of Sith to challenge such norms, either. He'd neatly avoided Ahnn's regular advances towards various officers on the cruiser, concerted enough that he knew she was completely unaware who it was he served. He'd even taken to consuming meals in his quarters. With Pierce, no less.

Pierce had avoided the woman like she was the plague, too, anyway. He practically ran if he saw her coming through a doorway. Self-preservation at its most precious, Quinn silently laughed. His wife's apprentice was only slightly less possessive than his own wife, actually. Pierce had muttered to Quinn once, even as he scampered out of the officer's mess one afternoon, "Damn it, Jaesa'll fry my sorry ass if she thinks I even _looked_." Quinn might have laughed over the situation, if he didn't sense the truth, that Ahnn's provocative behavior had far more to do with perverted delight at causing even perceived pain and distress to the married men she victimized, than any sort of desire for sex. She made it a point to mark the men, even. He'd noticed tell-tale scratch marks against the neck of the ship's captain, marks he was sure would scar just in time for the man to return home to his wife. The pitiful fellow actually shuddered when he caught sight of Ahnn walking down a corridor, dropping his eyes shamefaced whenever he regarded her.

She wasn't the first Sith who showed such ... tendencies. He'd only hoped to escape her notice long enough, just long enough, is all. He carefully hid his disgust behind a stony expression, now. He gathered himself, "As I indicated, it's a minor wound. I highly doubt I'll bear any permanent mark from the encounter."

She smiled slowly. "It's perhaps best to be certain, however. You should soothe the injury in a hot tub of water, keep it from swelling. Your … wound, that is. I heard you mention your desire for a bath, anyway." She actually drawled the word desire.

Pierce inhaled, looking back again towards the last of the weapons crates the team was sealing shut. He grunted helpfully, leaning closer to Quinn, "Need to get those guns stored properly, colonel sir. You're required to sign them into storage."

Ahnn shot the soldier a frosty glare. Quinn felt like laughing all of a sudden, as he realized the irony in the situation. He quite nearly remarked how lucky he was, not to have invited this Sith to use a holoterminal in his quarters. His life had never quite been the same after the last time he extended a Sith such an invitation. Of course, he'd been enthralled from the start by _that_ Sith, to the point he delighted in her flirtatious overtures. It was one of his favorite memories, in fact. This Sith? He only felt the purest disgust as he considered her.

Ahnn was snarling at Pierce, "Perhaps you should show some initiative … captain, is it not? I'm certain your colonel would … appreciate it. Would you not, colonel?"

Quinn's face was carefully blank, as he leaned back onto the heels of his boots, clasping his hands loosely behind him in as relaxed a stance as he could manage. "The captain is correct, however. My attention is required to oversee the handling of the weapons we retrieved on Nar Shaddaa."

Ahnn looked at him calculatedly, smiling with the purest cruelty. He braced himself. "You ... captain. You will leave us alone. Your colonel is going to appreciate what it means to _service_ a Sith."

Pierce stiffened slowly. Even methodically. He stepped closer to Quinn, until they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. Quinn imagined the calculations the soldier was making, furiously fast as he stood there. He'd once described to Quinn Lusiel's response to some perceived threat he'd made against him. Right after_ the incident_, in fact. Pierce had offered to throw Quinn out of the Wing's airlock and Lusiel hadn't hesitated, hadn't stopped even to wipe the blood Quinn had left her to bleed across her abdomen before she backhanded Pierce with a force punch he swore lost him half his teeth. "You ever threaten him again, and I'll kill _you_, Pierce! Don't you ever dare to question my judgment!"

Pierce stood straight as he faced the Sith apprentice, now. He looked over the woman's shoulder with his own roughly neutral expression. "Can't do that, my lord. I'm obliged to my own Sith Lord, in fact. Colonel Quinn's needed to complete this task, rather." He carefully canted his shoulder, drawing attention to the blackened edge of his armor, there. The marking described his loyal service to a Sith Lord. Not that Ahnn seemed overly impressed, either.

Ahnn's pale blue eyes were flinty as she regarded them. She waved a single hand, "My master is Darth Acina. She sits on the Dark Council. Your lord would understand, I'm certain." Her gaze blazed when Pierce stood firmly in place, unmoving. She stepped closer, glaring at them both, "You'll leave him to me, Imperial."

Pierce stared at her, "No. My lord."

She shrieked in pure rage, the sound echoing through the bay. Quinn tried interceeding, raising one single hand before she acted. But she was already flinging the force towards Pierce. Shouts resounded through the space as Pierce's hulking frame went flying. He yelled out, ducking his head down in a well-practiced move as he barrelled into the crates the soldiers were packing carefully. Quinn thought crazily how lucky Pierce was, that Jaesa had made such a practice of flinging the man all around the place. Made him rather proficient at staying in one piece, today. The crash of the impact resounded, a booming sound interspersed with the wild shrieks from terrified technicians and enginners in the place who went running out of the way of the maddened Sith.

Pierce sat up from his prone position behind the tumbled crates, looking towards Quinn with a frantic expression. He waved him back, shouting, "No, Quinn! Damn it, get away!" But Quinn was already rushing to stand between him and the Sith, holding his hand up once again as if to stop her. She stalked towards him, her gaze hard and cold, like glass. He breathed slowly, "My lord, if you will only ..."

She lifted him suddenly, wrapping him up in the hard, terrible bounds of her force ability. He gasped as he felt the powerful squeezing force she compelled against his chest, wheezed out a pitiful huff of air. Pierce shouted something, but Quinn couldn't understand it through the ringing in his ears. The Sith leaned closer to him, murmuring, "You fool ... I would've given you pleasure. But now I'll make it _hurt_!" He saw stars dancing in the air in front of him as he started to lose consciousness, but she withdrew just enough that he was able to inhale fresh air, gasping loudly. She laughed as she reared back, using her force ability to drag painful sensation down along the entire length of his body. It hurt! He dug his teeth into his lip, strived to keep from screaming, and he felt a sudden spurt of blood in his mouth.

Quinn held his head back, yelling, "Stop!"

And then she was there. "_Malavai_." Her voice in his head was simple and cold. A sign of how enraged she really was, how bitterly her anger ran. The normal easing into their bond was more of a harsh, terrible snap this time, as Lusiel's awareness was only suddenly _there_. It completely overtook him, until it seemed she'd actually entered his head, seized him and shoved him - hard - into one of those rooms there that he'd once described to her. Complete and utter safety, the feeling washing over him. And then everything went black and _Quinn_ stopped.

Ahnn froze, her laughter stuttering into confused silence as she felt her force ability seized, held in place. The power of that grip was tremendous, terrifying - like the darkest places where fears were actually made, where they were shaped and formed into the most terrible forms imaginable! Ahnn felt it, this force, this rage ... It was watching her! What was it, she agonized. But it was holding her, keeping her frozen in place. And then it abruptly wrenched against her, hard enough the pain she was causing actually reflected back upon herself. She screamed, shrilly, strident with fear as she fell backwards to land hard upon the floor straight on her ass.

Ahnn watched as the Imperial officer fell, crumpling towards the floor. She felt perverse satisfaction at the thought he'd hit the floor even harder than she had. But he actually slid through the air, rather. Pierce leaped forward, catching Quinn's body up against his chest and held him firmly as he glared over his shoulder towards the Sith woman. He heard the rasp of Quinn's voice, strained and choked, "Pierce ... kill her. Now." Pierce startled, his eyes wide as he jerked his gaze to Quinn, considered the bleary look in his eyes.

And he understood. Not Quinn's order at all. Nor would he ever, ever tell a single soul that he knew - knew down deep! - that the order was Lusiel's ... straight from her, direct and succinct. Even if it was offered through Quinn's pained voice. Pierce slanted his eyes towards the Sith woman, watched as she twitched and jerked there against the floor. He'd once told Quinn about Lusiel's punishment, the way she'd knocked against the side of his face with a tough force-powered punch. He remembered spitting several shattered teeth against the floor, remembered telling Quinn about _that_, too.

What he'd never told Quinn had far more to do with the promise he made to Lusiel afterwards. You simply didn't tell any man how much you admired his wife. Not when that man knew good and well you'd gotten a good, strong erection the first time you met her. Because let's face it, Lusiel was a damn attractive piece of woman. Wasn't a man alive who wouldn't want her, he thought. But Pierce didn't imagine he'd ever touch Lusiel like that, and he didn't really regret it. Mostly because he really did like to touch Jaesa and she'd probably rip his cock off if he even thought any different. Didn't change that Pierce mightily respected his Sith Lord, though. To him, she was like a diamond. This glittering, shining thing that was still so fucking tough it'd shred steel into pieces given the chance.

And that damn Baras had struck at her, used Quinn against her, like a damn bludgeon. Pierce had felt it like the keenest sense of personal failure. Firstly, that his ship was penetrated, overtaken. But more that someone on his team had paid such a heavy, personal price for that failure, that the leader he followed was targeted for it. He'd felt like hitting something, someone. He'd taken the blow straight to his pride, taken it personally, because he should've seen it, stopped it. Fuck, Jaesa had told him beforehand that something was wrong! It was utterly galling. Every one of them had paid the price for his fuck-up, even, because they were all left reeling from the incident. None more than Quinn, he knew. He'd interrupted Quinn from a nightmare once.

No, Pierce had decided he'd fucked up all but royally. He'd failed his ship, his crew, his team. He'd failed his commander, the one he personally respected more than anyone he'd ever followed. That's why he promised Lusiel - told her, "_He'll come to no harm while I can prevent it. I swear it_." And he'd kept the promise through every day and year since then, too. Wasn't going to change today, not with Quinn's form slumped against his chest and Lusiel's fierce rage blazing out from his eyes. Even if Quinn got on every one of his last nerves. And truth be told ... nope, he couldn't do it, he thought to himself, scowling. He simply couldn't admit that sometimes he even _liked_ the fucking nabob. Leastwise, not out loud. The damn prick still got on his nerves too often. No, he only tucked his head close to Quinn's ear, and he grunted, "Yes, my lord."

Pierce slowly stepped apart from Quinn, waited until he was sure the man was able to at least stand there in place. Then he edged around him, ignoring Cole calling to him, asking him what was happening. Pierce just stepped towards the Sith. Once, then twice. He stood there, looming over her. She glared up at him, "You, Imperial. You'll help me rise. Do it." But he shook his head. He figured at the last she deserved a bit of understanding. So he grumbled low, "Warned you I'm obliged to a Sith Lord already."

He leaned down, watched her blue eyes going wide with shock as she slowly realized the truth. He smiled tightly as he knelt over her, as he slowly straddled her paralyzed figure, "Lord Lusiel is a tad possessive of her husband, you see. So this is real personal. I'm not sorry for it. Just wanted you to know." Ahnn blinked slowly, watching in frozen bemusement as the soldier raised a single, large and beefy fist over her head. She wanted to scream. But the power holding her in place didn't allow it, didn't allow her to cry a single tear or even whimper a single brief sound. It made the entire process singularly eerie, the soldiers gathered nearby would say much later. They'd shake their heads as they described the scene, the way that Sith lay there against the floor. Not making a single sound as Pierce slowly and steadily beat her to death.

* * *

"Darth Acina, let me be quite clear. Your fool apprentice assumed she could insult my husband, during the course of his duties in service to the Empire. She went so far as to impede him and the soldiers he was leading, hindering them in retrieving weapons essential to the martial abilities of our Empire's fighting forces. So, no. The soldier who acted in defense of my interests has been duly rewarded for his efforts, in fact. Now. Offend me with further complaints and endless whining curiosities, and I will make sure to meet with you personally to discuss my sense of personal upset still further. The last Sith I met in such a fashion wore a title of Darth and sat on the Dark Council, too. Do not mistake me.

- Holotransmission recording; from Lord Lusiel Phyre, the Wrath of the Emperor; to Darth Acina, of the Sphere of Technology on the Dark Council

"Lord Lusiel, I truly believe you've misunderstood! I only hoped to convey my personal respects, as well as my hopes your man has been cared for as befits a hero in service to the Empire. Both of them, in fact. There is no need for any further communications in regards this matter, trust me. Sincerest hopes."

- Holotransmission recording; from Darth Acina, of the Sphere of Technology on the Dark Council; to Lord Lusiel, the Wrath of the Emperor


	5. Chapter 5 -- Dark Memories

**This scene fits a couple of purposes, here. Heck, it's been muddling around in my head for a couple of weeks, really burning at me, even. I feel like I had to go ahead and share it, else I'd just go nuts. But I wanted to take a moment to explain, before tossing it up for you guys to consider.**

**Firstly, there's hints here of my Makeb arc. I only say that, because I've had several private messages asking me about the end-game events and story with my characters. So I wanted to clarify, here, that I do plan on writing up a story describing the course on Makeb, as I see it. I only want to complete the character stories, first, though. Here, the only one of my Legacy characters you won't hear mentioned, but who will make an appearance on Makeb, is Camiel.**

**Second, I've included a flashback memory scene, here. If I could go back and include it in "Forging", that's what I would do. But it fits, here, as well. It hints at an event in Khyriel's story, which is very important as it ends up effecting, really, every one of my Legacy characters. Still, Lusiel had a perspective on that event and I wanted to share it here, rather than try to force it into "Forging" in long, long retrospect. Which wouldn't really make sense, actually.**

**Anyway, that's just some thoughts from me. Let me know what you think, by all means.**

* * *

Lusiel stepped into the room solidly, as if taking ownership of it. Which she was, really. And never mind that her brother was already there. He acceeded to her, as he always did. He only glanced at her from over his shoulder, smiling slightly as he stayed still there, leaning against one yawning window casing as he looked out over the estate's yard.

She sighed as she regarded him carefully, judging his frame and demeanor. It wasn't really unusual for him to appear in front of her looking tired, gaunt, and hollow-eyed. He'd typically smile or shake his head tiredly, remind her, "Not everyone can rely on the Force to barrel through an enemy, Lou. Besides. It was fun!" His efforts on Makeb had been methodically precise, though, and she'd followed his motions exactly. Especially since she couldn't be there to help more directly than to be a voice on holo.

She'd watched him, saw the glassy look that seemed to stay in his eyes, the stress that was wearing against him the entire time he was there. He'd appear on holo with his clothes stained with sweat and blood, dust and soil. He'd looked tired every time they spoke and frightened, too, not a few times. The strain on him had proved extraordinary, even beyond what she'd anticipated. But the security it won him was without measure. "Your brother was exceptional, Wrath. And I do not give praise lightly. We will make use of him in the future." The simplicity of the message underscored the real prize that was Darth Marr's assurance. That Khyriel's life would not be sacrificed to an executioner's gambit, that he'd not be hunted or otherwise destroyed. That he was safe from the Empire's wrathfulness.

Removing threats to her people was essential, before anything else.

Lusiel crossed the room to stand next to her brother, until her small figure was almost leaning into his. Khyriel looked down at her, grinning as he pulled her flush against his side. She reached up to smooth a slender finger against the dark circles that scored the tender flesh under his eyes, clucking her tongue. "It's nothing a few days rest won't cure, Lou. Hush." He almost purred the assurance towards her. She was familiar with the tone, called it "diplomatic" when she was in a good mood. But it was always contrived, a methodical manipulation and one that Khyriel cultivated with the most incredible skill she'd ever known.

Rare, though, that he used it in his dealings with her. She frowned up at him, "Tell me." A shuttered look fell over Khyriel's gaze, and he looked back towards the window, towards the figures moving about below. She glanced at them, at her tiny daughter as she trilled laughter through the muggy afternoon light. Jessa was playing some silly child's game with her apprentice, clapping her hands in delight whenever Jaesa suspended various objects in the air and manipulated them into spinning and bopping, like dancing figures, there. Soldiers and guards were nearby, ubobtrusive as the toddler played.

Khyriel grunted as he watched them, "You daughter is more content than you were at that age." He seemed bemused by the sight, actually. Lusiel watched Jessa laughing, thought how unlikely laughter with her mother would've been. Karen always insisted on the most proper standards, on strictures that exceeded even the norms of decorous behavior, with painful twists of the arm or hard, jarring shakes of the shoulders if her standards weren't met. Bad enough where Lusiel was concerned, because Karen insisted Lusiel was "sheer perfection, everything we could've hoped for." But she'd hated her son just as rabidly as she adored her daughter.

In her best moments, Karen dismissed or disregarded Khyriel. More often, though, she'd rail against him. She called him "an utter failure", as if she'd designed him very methodically and couldn't quite wrap her head around the product. His hair was never combed right, his clothes never seemed to fit right, his stance was never quite stiff enough, his back never straight enough - he couldn't even step, even speak without enraging their mother. He was just two years old when Lusiel realized her mother hated every single breath her little brother drew into his lungs, knew that, because that's when Karen began prodding her to "make him go away".

Lusiel's eyes darkened into near ebony slate, remembering that darkly terrible whisper in her ear, the smooth cadence of her mother's cozening whine. "How easy it would be, sweetling. Just a little nudge while you're playing ... just push him over the edge ... just hold him down under the bath water, just for a little while. It won't take long. It'll be so much better when he's gone. Then I could give you a _better_ brother." Lusiel slowly ground her teeth back and forth, losing herself for a moment in the darkness of her memories, the rage-filled satisfaction she'd felt when she'd watched Karen fly, bleeding, out of the tall window of their apartments.

Then she glanced up, looked at the wondering expression on her brother's face. She reached over to softly pluck at the lobe of his ear, where the flesh was pared into a smooth nick. Like someone had taken something sharp to the skin, there. It had bled so much, too, she remembered. But she smiled at Khyriel today, refusing the memory, felt her eyes glitter with pleasure as she assured him, "Raina will be a _far_ better mother, Khy."

Khyriel leaned his dark head backwards, laughing, "Minx! You didn't allow me to get the words out!"

Lusiel laughed softly as she stepped away from him, turning until her back was straight against the window casing across from him. She watched him, gauging the emotions flitting over his face. "That's what made it so much harder on Makeb. She was pregnant even then. I read the reports. You must have been slowly going out of your mind."

Khyriel sighed, reaching up to smooth his hand along the line of his brow, rub gently against his temple. As if such a motion could wash away the memory of the headaches she knew he would've struggled with while he was on that world. And he didn't even mention everything, to boot. "Damn brat wouldn't leave the planet. Not with me on it, she said. I might have pushed the issue. But I truly needed every bit of help I could get. And there were _other_ issues, too. It was a nightmare."

Lusiel crossed her arms over her chest, glancing sideways towards the window when Jessa suddenly shrieked some gleeful noise as Jaesa held her aloft in midair and the soldiers began yelping from around the perimeter of the yard. Her daughter spun in slow circles, control that showed a truly impressive bit of Force ability. She would have to test Jaesa's abilities even further, perhaps. "Kastiel was with you. I thought it would be enough." That Khyriel admitted it was difficult was telling. She clenched her fists as she realized how close she must have come to losing them both, two of her _siblings_, even.

Khyriel shrugged away from the casing, moving back from the window towards the desk set against a nearby wall. He tapped his fingers against the datapad he'd placed there when he entered the room earlier, watched as Lusiel crossed over to pick it up. She scanned the information carefully, before lifting troubled eyes towards her brother. He leaned his hip against the edge of the desk, looking down at the floor. "There are times I wish our mother had survived. Just long enough, mind you. Because I would truly enjoy the chance to break her myself! Nonsense like that wouldn't happen, if he'd been raised _properly_. Damn well secure enough, at least!" He looked over at her, his dark eyes bitter and cold. "Can you imagine the Imperial he would've made?"

Lusiel nodded firmly, grim-faced, her lips compressed in solid anxiety. "Nothing to be done in that regard, however." She stared down towards the datapad again. "Will he live?"

"Of course he will! Our damn brother is too much a dunderhead to die from something as simple as a mesa collapsing out from under his fool feet as he tried to saved idiot civilians! Hell, he practically danced across the surface!" Lusiel stopped, her eyes slowly breaking into twinkling amusement as she watched him shoot straight to begin pacing back and forth in front of the desk. He called Gaibriel several more choice names, even. She thought "hardheaded simpleton" was the best, though, and even waved one hand as she told him so. "I don't find it funny in the least, Lou. Kas pulled him out of there at the last possible second. He nearly lost a limb! And never mind the risk to her!"

Lusiel finally choked on a laugh, unable to help herself when she heard Khyriel mutter something about how much better it would be if Gaibriel managed several choice knocks on his damn head, rather than his leg. The two of her brothers had been enjoying a truly marvelous rivalry since their very first meeting. Gaibriel confounded Khyriel, with his seeming cavalier attitude and his penchant for drawing everyone around him into bemused gales of laughter. "Ah, Khy. You _adore_ him! How sweet." Khyriel spun around, almost stabbing the air with a pointed finger as he began to shout some sort of invective. Probably a slew of them, in fact. Seeing him nearly dissolve into discombobulated fury was very much the final straw, and Lusiel almost fell over herself laughing.

Khyriel ended up blustering a tired sigh as he stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at her, "I am _not_ amused, Lou."

"And _I_ do not believe you. You're well able to keep me from sensing you, Khy, as a general rule. But our brother does tend to needle your poor sensibilities. Makes it much easier for me to see you, that way." Lusiel chuckled as his pale skin flushed with chagrin. "Admit it. You didn't think you'd actually like him, did you?"

Khyriel shrugged, "He despises the Empire."

"Not surprising, is it?"

"It should be concerning, though."

"But it isn't. He'd lay his life down if it prevented us from being hurt, Khy. That's all that concerns me, in regards our little brother. It's the same for you, no matter how much you stomp your foot where he's concerned."

Khyriel slowly nodded, thoughtful in a cautious, pondering way. It was just so _Khyriel_, that expression of his. He'd once told her his mind worked like that, in carefully coordinative mannerisms, like a programmed machine. Like a computer. Mathematical, analytical, and scheming. Always scheming. She imagined he was mechanically calculating everything it is he knew of Gaibriel, in precise detail, even as he stood there. Admirable, she thought, watching him. He murmured, finally, "It's just, that he's ... different. I can't really _understand_ him. But he does amuse me, yes."

Lusiel regarded him for several long moments, her features suddenly serious again. "Is that why you cut the throat of that braggart who claimed he'd owned him at one point? When he was eleven, I think he said."

"No. I cut his throat after he told me how much he'd enjoyed carving his brand into Gaibriel's stomach, rather. I do believe I proved to him my skills with a blade were far superior." Khyriel lifted one shoulder, nonchalant, "The look on his face was rather priceless, to be honest. But we no longer need to be concerned over those details of his life being used by his enemies, either."

Lusiel only smiled slowly in dark agreement, "Carve them into pieces, Khy." She didn't wait for Khyriel's response, only walked back towards the window to watch her daughter at play. She smiled as she watched Jessa Force-pushing her apprentice across the lawn, with Jaesa yelling out in some shock at the child's sheer ability.

Threats to their own were intolerable, she thought, lifting her chin as she stood there. It was as simple as that.

* * *

_Lusiel pushed the door open, peering around the edge towards the plump cushions of the bed set against the wall on the far side of the room. It was difficult to see at first, so that she bit her lip to catch back the distressed moan that would break the nearly palpable silence of that space. But she was finally able to look past the shadows that stretched over the nighttime quiet. _

_Lusiel sucked in a shallow breath when she caught sight of her father, slumped in a weary posture along the edge of a chair he'd pulled close to the side of the bed. Lucian's uniform was badly wrinkled, and spotted in several places with small smears of blood. He had dropped his forehead into the palms of his hands, which he'd braced on his elbows against the top of his knees. He was still wearing his boots, so that the toe of one hard-edged boot just barely nudged the soft bag that contained his personal medical kit, tumbled there on the floor against the bed._

_If he'd been any later returning home ... Lusiel shuddered as she eased further into the room, creeping forward on her tiny feet until she could make out the tiny form of her baby brother on the bed. _

_Khyriel was huffing softly, obviously upset even through the sedation Lucian had administered. She examined him carefully, every square inch of him she could see that wasn't covered by the thin blanket his father had pulled over him as the boy finally drifted into unconsciousness. Khyriel had pulled his small knees up into his stomach, until he lay there in a curled position like some tiny unborn thing that floated in the womb. The gesture was purely protective, as if he was afraid of being hurt even when he slept, when he drifted in the dark of his toddler dreams._

_Lusiel's lips quivered as she fought to keep from crying, her dark brown eyes drifting over the signs of trauma on him, the nicks and scratches where the sharp-edged shears had ripped over her brother's head. Huge hunks of hair were missing in several places, either lopped off in jagged tears or otherwise torn from his scalp. Cuts marked him where the scissors had snapped and clipped too close - along the line of his neck, there on the top of his head right up against the scalp, and a single chunk of flesh missing from one tiny curl of ear. _

_He'd screamed so loudly, she remembered, shaking as she dropped her gaze down to the floor. She wrapped her slender arms over her stomach, her chin trembling as she fought to keep herself from crying in terrified wails. But she still edged closer to the bed, determinedly protective of him. _

_"Ah, precious girl. Don't be afraid, Lusiel. You did so damn well today, I'm proud of you." She looked up into her father's dark eyes, felt herself warm under the approval of his brown-eyed gaze. So much like her own, his eyes. And she sighed as she looked up at him. Lucian held out his arms, reaching to catch his daughter as she flung herself against him and let loose a solid, pitiful whimper before her voice firmed into a small, angry venting._

_"She'll make him go away, she told me so! I hate her, Da! I won't do it, I won't do what she says! She can't make me!"_

_Lucian stiffened, until his body felt hard and straight there against her cheek where she was pressed into his chest. But his fingers remained carefully gentle as he stroked the dark braids against the side of her head, murmured to her using soft comforting sounds. He leaned closer, so that his mouth was tucked against her ear. "Shhhh, Lusiel. Calm, now. And tell me." And he listened to the whispers she offered him, the whimpered fears she shared. The terror of the weeks, months, where the only thing that stood between his son and the mother who wanted him dead was the small, trembling form of her own tiny three year old self._

_Her strength! What Hell she'd make against the Empire's enemies! His own daughter! Yes!_

_He leaned back into the chair, laying his head against the chair back as he lifted Lusiel up until she rested wearily against his chest. He felt her relaxing, felt her small body easing closer to sleep. He sank into the quiet stillness, listening for any steps coming towards the room, and smiled with darkest satisfaction when his wife stayed away, rather. Cowardly bitch! He only patted Lusiel's small back with one large hand, murmuring comforting sounds, and watched as Khyriel eased into real sleep. And he swore to his oldest child, "Hate her, Lusiel! I'll not let her take your siblings from you. I'll kill her if she tries!"_


End file.
